


Crumpled Like Tissue Paper

by VaughnDotEXE



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 23:51:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VaughnDotEXE/pseuds/VaughnDotEXE
Summary: Fear could strike the heart at any moment, Owain found out. Even on the field of battle, where he was supposedly his best and most confident because of his “sword hand;” all his over exaggeration and loud exclamations that caused everyone around him to either glare at him or get secondhand embarrassment could be stopped at the drop of a hat.Or, in this case, the drop of a friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is beta read by a really good friend of mine, [Eudes](http://destinprxnce.tumblr.com/)! Shout out to them for being really amazing and not knifing me after they read this.

           There was rarely a time in Owain’s life where all his theatrics were dropped instantaneously. Sometimes, around certain people, he would drop them and be “normal,” but never in public or where large groups of people could see this drop in his act.

           There were a very scant few times he remembered dropping them completely in front of large crowds or without fear of who saw him, and that was when he was scared. When he feared losing someone close to him, such as his mother or a close friend. Fear seemed to be the only thing that could make him stop all together.

           Fear could strike the heart at any moment, Owain found out. Even on the field of battle, where he was supposedly his best and most confident because of his “sword hand;” all his over exaggeration and loud exclamations that caused everyone around him to either glare at him or get secondhand embarrassment could be stopped at the drop of a hat.

           Or, in this case, the drop of a friend.

           One Brady of the Moistened eyes was fighting off Risen with nothing but a staff, clunking them over the head easily to at least get them away from him so others around him could attack. Owain let a small smile form on his lips as he watched the grumpy look on Brady’s face get somehow grumpier. He was mumbling to himself, things Owain could only imagine were curse words.

           A movement caught the myrmidon’s eye—a Risen coming toward him. With a laugh and a shout ( _“Begone, fiend!”_ ), Owain sliced through the undead soldier easily. The familiar scent of rotting corpse filled his nostrils, causing him to cough once before jumping away triumphantly. “See? Owain needs no—”

           He stopped dead in his tracks as his blood suddenly got replaced with ice, running cold through his veins as he looked over to check on Brady.

           Owain watched helplessly as a blade connected with his friend’s left side, watching as the tallest member in the army hardly flinched. Instead, he just seemed to crumple to the ground, his trusty staff falling from his hand and bouncing away a couple feet.

           The myrmidon didn’t even remember moving.

           The next thing he knew, he was across the field, standing in front of Brady’s body as his sword sliced through the Risen in front of him easily. He couldn’t even think of a stupid line to say, his lungs asking for more air than he was able to suck in. Anxiety and panic spiked through his entire being as he whipped around, noticing immediately that _Brady hadn’t moved._

           “Oh, gods,” he breathed, looking around to see if any other healers were around. It didn’t seem like there were any, making his anxiety turn into pure panic. The priest was lying on the ground in a pool of blood, both his own mixed with that of the Risen. He was unmoving, eyes closed, chest barely moving up and down.

           Owain swallowed hard as he looked over everything as tactically as he possibly could. First thing was first: Brady needed to get back to camp, _immediately_. He needed to see a healer, _fast._ More than just a healer, honestly—he needed to be properly treated for this wound. One round of healing magic wasn’t going to fix this.

           With one more look around, Owain figured the only way to get Brady back to camp was to carry him. Despite the incredible height difference, the healer was borderline nothing but skin and bones, and the myrmidon was extremely strong and agile for his age and height.

           Even then, he wasn’t sure if he could carry Brady all the way back, not without taking a few breaks. He might be strong, and Brady might be skin and bone, but it was still a lot to carry a long way. Owain knew his body’s limits, and he would only be able to go for so long before his body would scream for a break or threaten to drop his best friend.

           A gentle hand pressed to the priest’s neck, checking for a pulse—so far, so good. That would change drastically the longer he let Brady bleed out, though.

            _Fuck it._

           Owain rolled the priest onto his back as gently and easily as he could, biting back a gasp as he saw how deep the wound was. It made his stomach turn a bit just at the sight, so his attention quickly flicked to helping Brady up into his arms.

           Scooping him up bridal style, the myrmidon managed to pick Brady up, carrying him as quickly as possible back to camp.

           He managed to carry him quite far before needing to take a break. Resting Brady on the ground, Owain took a moment to check over everything. He needed to make sure everything was still okay, needed to make sure Brady was still breathing, _good gods they were both covered in his blood—_

           “‘Wain…”

           Green eyes snapped up to look at Brady’s face, who looked tired and in pain. His heart seemed to stop, but he put on his theatrics to cover up how he was feeling and what was going on. Brady might be out of it and unsure what’s happening, and the last thing Owain needed was him thinking he was dying. “Ah, Sir Brady of the Moistened Eyes! What can I, Owain Da—”

           “Stop.” 

           “—rk do for—huh?”

           The air went dead between them as Owain realised what Brady had said to him. _Stop._ Never had he told Owain to stop before—he always low-key encouraged it, while loudly complaining. He told him to quiet down, to settle down, to calm himself at times, but _never_ told him to just _stop._

           That somehow terrified the myrmidon way more than it should have.

           “Owain, y’know ‘m not…” those brown eyes closed, making Owain panic a little for a second until Brady began to talk once again. “Go back there. They needs ya more’n I do. I ain’t—”

           “Brady, I’m not leaving you here. I’m getting you back to camp, and that’s that. You’re going to be okay.”

            _Am I convincing him, or myself?_

           Silence passed between the two of them as Brady’s eyebrows furrowed together, seemingly struggling to find what to say. Owain knew he was debating on telling him off, but by now it seemed pointless. The hyper manchild was going to do what he wanted, and Brady was going to let him do it without a fight for once.

            “... I love ya, y’know that, right?”

           The words caused Owain to pause, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as he realised what Brady was doing.

            _He’s saying goodbye._

           “Stop. We’ll… We’ll do this later, when you’re better. I’m getting you back to the camp, you’re going to be—”

           He cut himself off with a small yelp as he was pulled down by the front of his shirt, arms shooting out to brace himself instead of falling onto Brady. His mouth collided with Brady’s, the rough lips against his own making his brain short out for a second. Was this really happening? Was he actually being _kissed?_ This seemed fake, but somehow far too real at the same time. 

           As Owain gathered enough of his senses to reciprocate, the kiss was over just as fast as it started. 

           The taller of the two let go of the front of Owain’s shirt and pushed him away to cough harshly. The three actions in combination drained him of all his strength. Now Brady relaxed into the dirt below, his eyes fluttering closed as his head rest against the myrmidon’s arm.

           “… Don’t forget ‘bout me, yeah?”

           A shake of his head. “Brady, no, don’t—don’t do this to me. I just got my parents back, I can’t lose you now. Brady, please!”

           The priest had fallen unconscious once more, it seemed. Owain suddenly found enough strength from the adrenaline running through his system to pick Brady up once more. “Fuck, _fuck,_ c’mon Brady—”

           “Watch yer mouth,” the slurred words came, causing a slight bit of annoyance to flare up within the pit of Owain’s stomach. He was seriously injured, and yet still lucid enough to tell Owain to _watch his mouth?_

           “Fuck.” It slipped out almost out of spite at this point, but at the same time to try and keep Brady talking. If Owain could keep the priest talking, he’d be okay. Everything would be okay. They could get to the camp, they could get Brady help, and when all was said and done, they could talk about what the hell that kiss made them. Maybe this would turn out to have a good ending after all.

           Except it didn’t.

           The camp was off in the distance. Owain could barely see it, but it was _there_. He smiled lightly in triumph, remembering to chalk this down as a victory later to tell in his Manual of Justice.

           (Or not. Maybe he wouldn’t want to remember this.)

           Owain looked down, the small smile on his lips falling almost immediately.

           Brady’s chest was only slightly moving now, taking very long pauses in between breaths.

           “No,” he whispered, eyes going wide as he began to run as fast as he could without dropping Brady. “No, no, no, no, please, gods, if you’re truly out there, _please let him live_ …”

           It seemed the gods were no longer out there.

           Owain used his strong vocal cords to yell out to his comrades for help. Almost immediately, people came rushing out, and with several people’s efforts carried him into the med tent.

           It took only ten minutes before Maribelle’s screams of “ _No!_ ” told Owain the exact story he didn’t want to hear. The exact story he’d feared ever since he watched his friend crumple to the ground. The exact story that caused him to fall to his knees and his fists to hit the ground, cursing the gods above because _you truly have abandoned us, haven’t you?_

           Later, when the middle of the night struck and it was silent and dark, Owain pushed his way into the med tent. Green eyes were filled with tears as they took in the sight of his one and only best friend lying there, seemingly peacefully asleep. Brady’s arms were laying at his sides, dried blood everywhere since no one had the heart to clean up so soon. It tore Owain up inside, swallowing hard as he gripped his friend’s cold hand in his own.

           His eyes slid closed as he stood in silence, gripping his hand as if it were the only thing tying him to this world. With the softest whisper he could manage, Owain murmured the one thing he’d been wanting to tell Brady since that kiss.

           “I love you, too.”


End file.
